Flesh Impenitence
by MissDementia
Summary: Though it was indeed true that he had come to the conclusion that she was not in complete fault of her actions, she had still sinned. She would need to accept her punishment. She was the prisoner and he her warden. He would not show her mercy.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything! Everything belongs to their respectable owners

Author's Note: I consider this ficlet somewhat dark. It involves taking advantage of someone through manipulation. If this sort of thing bothers you, then I would advice you not to read it. You have been warned!

* * *

_"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before"_

_- Edgar Allan Poe_

It had become a habit of his to walk the desert streets of Spain at night. Within the city of Ronda, the nights were always calm and beautiful, seemingly ethereal. Though the occasional drunkard or beggar sometimes roamed the roads, it was always easy to pay them no heed. He had traveled here to this city almost twenty years ago and through all this time, Christine still lingered within the dark recesses of his mind. Upon the opportunity to sleep, she was always there, lingering along with the disgusted face of his mother and the snobbish grin of the gypsy man. Time after time, in a heaping mess of darkness, though he wished it not, his musical angel, the only source of light within his subconscious, would drift away from his side and abandon him once again, leaving him forever alone in the utter blackness of space where he would always be damned.

It was because of this that he had all but given up on sleep, welcoming insomnia with a lover's embrace.

On this very night, Erik haunted the streets once again, all the while composing a melancholic tune within his expansive mind. Yes, he would remember this piece. It spoke greatly of his sorrows, each note carrying with it the burden of his grief. As he treaded the pebbled streets debating on whether a crescendo was in order on the twenty second stanza, Erik briefly noticed a railing harboring a gleaming body of water, the trail inclining upwards into the beginnings of a small bridge. He had long ago memorized this path already and simply continued on forward. The moon shone majestically this very night, her luminous veil covering the entire pathway ahead of him, making it seem as if he were treading on light itself. While continuing upon this usual route, climbing upon the spanning structure, Erik came across a woman leaning on the bridge, glaring at the glittering water below. Erik curved a graceful brow at the sight, but continued forward nonetheless, albeit at a slower pace.

"Maldito Bastardo," he heard her utter with complete venom in her soprano voice. Erik ceased his walking momentarily and stealth-fully examined her. He took in her appearance through his peripheral vision similar as to how a lion would scrutinize its pray.

She wore a simple red gown, the silky material clinging to her body in such a way that her curves were pleasantly accentuated. Her hair seemed to glow in the silver moonlight, shinning like a dark river across the small of her back. Erik categorized her as middle class, noting her clean clothing but lack of brash jewelry and therefore detected no threat in dwelling in her presence. If in any chance the woman wished to cause him any harm, he would not hesitate to bring out his Punjab Lasso which lingered deep within the front pocket of his coat, its current resting place.

Upon closer examination, he quickly noted the flaw with that plan of execution. No. With a swan-like neck such as hers it would be a true pity to not kill her with his bare hands. The texture would surely bring him some relief, like a small balm to a colossal wound. Thick calloused hands encircling a soft, bird-like throat. _Heaven__…_

Despite these dark thoughts, he decided that perhaps it would be better to simply continue on his way. Shaking his head to try to eliminate the perverse thoughts within his mind, he progressed on his path. As he took a few steps ahead, a dulcet tone brought him completely out of his reverie. The woman.

"Excuse me, señor?" she said. By the sound of her dainty footsteps colliding with the stone below, he realized that she had taken a few steps towards him. Tightening his fists, the sound of carefully crafted leather groaning, Erik turned. Perhaps tonight he _would_ satisfy the un-nurtured beast that he had so long neglected. It indeed had been a long time since his last kill. His fingers twitched in delight. He turned his obsidian gaze towards her and raised an eyebrow. Finally having the opportunity to see her full front, Erik noted that this creature before him had been blessed by the same divine entity that had cursed him. He took in her heart-shaped face and almond eyes with a considerable amount of contempt. He quickly deduced that her soft features would look absolutely ravishing bathed in dripping red rubies. A red face to match a red dress.

"Señor?" She looked at him in curiosity.

"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle."

"Ah," she smiled, "you are French." At his curt nod she continued. "I

asked if you were married." The sweet tone of her accent caressed his native tongue.

The question boggled his mind and was enough to catch him completely by surprise. Wary of her intentions, he narrowed his eyes and answered, "No, mademoiselle. I am not." Perhaps she had not seen the obvious fact that was his mask; the device that disguised the right portion of his face. She could not see the horror that lied behind it, see the hurtful truth that no woman in her right mind would ever want to spend an instant in his true presence, much less a life time. He was an outcast, cursed into the cold, emptiness of the world where he would remain alone. He had long ago accepted that, although still with a harsh bitterness.

Fighting a twitch of the upper lip, Erik repeated once more, "No I am not."

The strange woman's feather like features relaxed and she smiled as she approached him. "That is good."

"How so?" Erik tensed as he noted her extremely close proximity. If she did anything peculiar, he would pounce upon her, authorities be damned. He was in no mood to indulge her in insignificant mind games. What in the seven circles of hell was she even doing roaming the streets in the middle of the night anyway? Erik bristled slightly when he realized the hypocrisy of that notion. Ignoring that train of thought, Erik went back to the woman and her strange presence. She could have easily been intoxicated. Though this seemed like a correct speculation, Erik noticed that there had been no wavering in her steps. She was here of her own accord. What was she playing at?

"Because now I shall feel no guilt in doing this." In a matter of seconds, she grasped both sides of his face and pulled him towards her lips. Though speed had always been one of his strongest attributes, the act had undoubtedly caught him off guard. He realized in an instant what had happened. Such a sweet and intimate act that he had shared in the past with the only person that he cared about in this light forsaken world, had just become tainted by a conniving harlot walking the streets at night. Within seconds, white hot fury consumed him and he wasted no time in wrapping his burly hand around the small throat of the attractive female. Her tangy, spicy sweat tainted his nostrils. It sickened him. Like a gaping fish, she gasped as she felt the pressure at her throat and finally released him.

"Explain yourself," Erik found himself trembling with rage. He had been tainted by the wanton whore. He had been wanting and willing to die without the touch of another woman. Only Christine had earned the right to his heart and his body. Only Christine should have had the displeasure of tasting him. His pure, innocent, and angelic Christine. Oh _Christine_!

The woman before him trembled in fear as she realized the severity of her current situation and the consequences of her actions. It was apparent to him that she had not expected this outcome. How foolish of her. A soft cricket's song played in the dark.

"Forgive me, monsieur," she chocked out. He loosened his grip slightly to allow her the chance to excuse her great transgression; tainting the temple of the singing goddess that was known as De Chagny. Perhaps he would kill her. He had already shown her mercy by allowing her to live this long. A breeze blew in the night and the scent of the woman before him intoxicated him. Twisting her around, so that her back would be pressed onto his chest, Erik ensnared her in his arms and dug his nose within the deep tresses of her hair. He growled as he felt the stinging of his prick signaling his arousal. Oh she would indeed pay. His current chastity was on the verge of bursting and it was all her fault; her fault for awakening the demon that he had tried so hard to keep at bay, to keep asleep. To die corporeally pure had become his goal. To die tainted would become her nightmare.

The demon within him snarled as he smelled the distinct smell of fear and female arousal. It had been in this same position in which he had held Christine all those years ago; the same scent coming from her. A bitch in heat.

He altered his tone to that of the pristine angel he had claimed to be so long ago. "You still have not given me an answer, ma chère." He could immediately feel the weakness that overcame her knees. As his enchantment came to her, the witch's tongue loosened.

"My husband, monsieur. I found him in the arms of another. I had merely wanted to return the favor."

Ah. So it appeared that it had been a reckless sin. Not one of malice or bad intentions but merely one of revenge. It seemed she too had suffered the betrayal of a loved one. She was nothing more but a reckless mother stealing bred to quell the seething hunger of her starving child. She had sought revenge as he had all those years ago. The masked man stuck his tongue out and slid it across the wench's collar bone. It appeared that she would not die tonight. The familiarity of her situation, however, had indeed strengthened his primal instincts. Years of pent up emotion and abstinence spew forth like water from a cracking dam. The demon had already been unleashed. He would have to have her. There was no other way.

"Then it appears that tonight you shall be mine, no?" He coated his tone with the sweetest of honey, bringing her into the dark with him. The same technique he had used with Christine all those years ago. The woman nodded and Erik could do nothing but smirk in satisfaction.

"What is your name, mon amour?"

"Aimee, monsieur."

"Aimee, come to me. Follow me and let us both seek comfort in our pain."

Hypnotized by the lulling beauty of his voice, Aimee followed him. He led her to his home, meanwhile whispering sweet nothings into her ear. It amazed him how easily she was falling into his trap. It was almost a disappointment to him. Christine had fought him, fought his charms and spells which had brought on more of his attraction to her. A creature so pure, it refused to follow the devil's child into the chaotic serenity of hell. He had wanted so much to extinguish that purity that brought such light into her eyes. By claiming her, he would not only have brought her down into his level, but he could have had that special light within his life, the flame at the end of the tunnel which he would have eventually and inevitably snuffed out. Such a pity it was not so. No, he had failed.

The duo reached the mansion on the outskirts of the town; no neighboring houses on sight. It was perfect.

As they entered the darkness, Erik, accustomed to the lack of light and having memorized the inner bowels of his living abode, retrieved a multitude of candles, lighting them all in a matter of seconds.

"Come, ma petite chérie. Let us wallow in the dark." Aimee followed his voice all the way to his bedchamber with eyes half lidded. Upon arrival, Erik lifted her lithe body up and carried her to his bed, dropping her unceremoniously. Though it was indeed true that he had come to the conclusion that she was not in complete fault of her actions, she had still sinned. She would need to accept her punishment. She was the prisoner and he her warden. He would not show her mercy.

Reaching for his shaving blade that lay on the top of his bureau, Erik brought it to the entranced maiden and traced lazy circles on the surface of Aimee's skin. Upon seeing the familiar sight of gooseflesh, Erik grinned. Without stalling, Erik sliced through Aimee's thin fabric of clothing and he clicked his tongue in approval at what he saw. Aimme wore neither chemise nor corset. Oh yes, she was definitely the one. The way the red pool of her torn gown surrounded her small body briefly reminded him of a fresh kill. His member twitched in delight.

Throughout all of his anticipation, it was at that moment that Erik's fervor subsided. Now what? At the sight of the woman's attractive body there was no denying the fact that Erik wished to claim her body for the night, howbeit, it was only then that Erik remembered his own inexperience in the bedroom.

_"That fate which condemns me to wallow in blood, has also denied me the joys of the flesh"_

Erik cursed his weakness and turned his sight to Aimee. Her glazed vision was pasted upon the ceiling, her chest heaving in a calmness that signaled her complete and utter loyalty to him. Though he knew the thought was absurd, Erik found himself asking her a question that continuously jabbed at his conscious. Approaching her and gently grasping her delicate chin in one hand, Erik brought himself closer to her and in a hushed whisper, called to her. The haziness of the trance was obvious to him. He knew what her answer would be.

"Mon amour?" he asked in a husky voice laced with a sweetness that challenged that of a chocolate toffee.

"Yes, monsieur?" she sighed in complete bliss as she felt his nose delve deeper into the base of her throat.

"What is it that you want?"

There was no hesitation, no inner turmoil, and no self-confliction that would in anyway remind him of the missing fragment of his soul. "You," she uttered, turning in his direction.

"Me," he repeated, standing fully erect now. Such a great and disgusting lie, uttered in the most honest of tones. It was almost believable. It was completely sickening. Slowly, he removed his coat, letting it fall carelessly on the floor. Normally this careless act would have bothered him deeply, however the current situation was too much to handle at the moment and he needed his complete focus at the situation at hand. Next, his cravat was loosened. As he unbuttoned his white shirt, he continued with his interrogation, as if at any given moment she would break his spell over her and run away from him. He had grown accustomed to that.

"What is it that you need?"

"You, monsieur. You and only you."

"And what of your husband?"

Here her delicate face contorted into a scowl. "To hell with him." Erik briefly wondered what it would be like to hear the voice of Christine utter those words when asked about Raoul. Wishful thinking. He was now completely nude, nude as the day that he was born. Well, not entirely nude, he supposed. His mask, his one and only friend, still lingered upon the distorted side of his face. He had come to the conclusion that he would not abandon it.

Finally, the time had come. Erik felt the surge of both excitement and

disgust surge throughout his body. To use his charm for this? How degrading. As if the woman would somehow agree with him, he asked her, "Why do you want me?" He settled in bed with her, the mattress creaking at the addition of his weight. She surprised him with her next words.

"You are the only one who can satisfy me." For the oddest of reasons, that seemed like an appropriate answer to him. Erik leaned forward towards her and began the exploration of her body. He purposely avoided her face, refusing to initiate the act of a kiss. She had already had that opportunity and he had not been comfortable with such an intimate act. What he was doing now was not an act of intimacy, but more of a primal urge as an animal does when it mates. This was the oil to his wheels in order to continue to operate. Throughout his whole life, Christine was the only one to have come so close to him. After her there had been no other woman and he thought there would never be. Until tonight.

With the candlelight, Erik could now note that Aimee's skin tone resembled the flesh of a freshly picked olive. He inhaled the scent of her throat once more, closing his eyes as he registered the scent of a female. He wished to hold this memory deep within the recesses of his mind for the remainder of his life. He wanted to remember every detail, every feeling and every touch. This would be the only night in which he would indulge himself. After tonight, he would dispose of the woman and continue on with his miserable existence.

In the past, Erik had read numerous books regarding the female anatomy. At the awkward age of pre-maturity, he had wanted to learn the ways to touch a woman. He had dreamed that someday he would somehow use his gathered knowledge to possess the one woman that he would forever want. Fate, it seemed, did not favor him.

His mouth found her breast immediately and he consumed the entirety of the peak with it. He suckled harshly on the tit, resembling a starved infant. As he lavished at the taste of her bosom, Erik's right hand met her other breast and began teasing it; pinching and flicking the little hardening nub with the tip of his fingers. He began to feel the body beneath him writhe in pleasure as well as hear shuttered breaths. He continued his assailment to her breast, enjoying the feel of them. He suckled as he imagined he would have done so with his mother had she not abhorred his mere existence. Erik found himself seeking comfort in this way, slightly fooling his mind to believe that it was his mother whom he held below him. Time passed on like this, the only sound in the room being the wet, slicking, gushing music that his mouth managed to draw from Aimee's breasts. As Aimee's breaths began to deepen, Erik knew that he would have to move on and therefore gave one last lick to her elevated flesh and travelled further down.

He kissed a path upon her, enjoying the salty taste of her perspiring body. As Adonis had once lavished upon the body of Aphrodite, so did he upon this insignificant worm. He went farther down, dipping his tongue within the crevice that was her umbilical hole. Slightly lower and he reached the organ of his entire desire, her sex. With trembling fingers, he parted her labia, the strong scent of womanhood piercing his nostrils. He heard her give a sharp intake of breath and he curiously lapped at the inner folds. He had read about manual stimulation, a single finger being enough to please any woman. But, of course, he had always been the master of improvisation. With more confidence, he began to assault her with his tongue, lapping at the juices secreting from her brought him to a daze. Oh if only he had had the opportunity to taste Christine in this way. Would she have allowed such an act or were her morals and ethics to pure to fully indulge into the complete pleasures of the flesh? Erik growled. Christine so pure, Christine so innocent. Why had she been blessed with the opportunity to be born so unsullied? Purer than the purest of crystals that the Shah of Persia had in his possession. Why had he been damned, forced to live the life of a criminal at such a young age? Why had he had to endure the look of complete hatred from the woman who birthed him?

A wave of jealousy consumed him, and he discovered that he had had enough time fooling around. Without caution, without warning, and without the gentleness of a lover, he positioned himself above her and impaled her with his member. Aimee gasped at the harsh intrusion, and he could see a look of pain cross her face. The feeling of her inner walls enveloping his member was enough to gush the air right out of him. Slowly, he began to delve deeper into her, searching for her core. Inch by agonizing inch, he felt himself slowly be consumed by this mere woman. All of the words in the entire French language would never be able to describe the feeling that overcame his body. A thought quickly pierced into his head and he remembered that Aimee was a married woman or _had_ been a married woman. To claim someone else's property pleased him.

_Your pleasure was well sought, Raoul. _That dark thought brought him a supreme amount of satisfaction and it was at that instant that he began quickening his pace. Faster and faster he claimed her, her gasps of pain soon morphing into moans of pleasure and he noted the she too began bucking her hips. Their rhythm, although not perfect, merged into a delicious dance that brought him to a wild drive. There was no Christine now, only passion, sweat and penetration. It would later amaze Erik how it was only at that instant when Christine would no longer plague his waking thoughts. Faster! Faster! The world seemed to come at a stand still. Even the emerging shouts that Aimee began to let out were nothing to him. He was so close!

It was at that instant where he felt Aimee convulse beneath him. She had reached her ultimate conclusion before him. Erik ground his teeth in anger and brought his hands to her throat once more. His grip tightened immensely and he briefly wondered if her trachea would snap. Aimee's eyes bulged and the mixture of feelings that overcame before her brought her at her ultimate high. She was finished. Rage and arousal seeping into his mind, Erik continued pounding on her. He would not stop, he refused to stop!

The sound of wild slapping of flesh against flesh registered into his mind and finally, he felt it. He could only compare the sudden feelings that befell him to the feelings that a well established musician would feel after successfully conducting Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. He shook violently and let out a roar as he felt his seed expel within her. It was done. He was no longer a virgin.

Exhausted, he released his tight grasp of the woman and fell on top of her, not caring in the least if he crushed her beneath his weight. He was still within her and the warmth that her sex provided him gave him a sense of comfort that he had never known existed. After a few moments of silence, he arose from his position and was surprised to find the woman beneath him alive and awake albeit with the same expression of complete devotion to him. Her hair, slick and smooth before, was now a tangled mess and he felt a sudden surge of joy overcome him as he saw the necklace of bruises form around her throat. Erik tilted her head to the rays of the candlelight to catch a better look of his work, however, Erik blinked as he caught sight of her eyes. He gave a slight jolt of astonishment and he peered further into the face of the woman, bringing her face closer to the candlelight in order to make sure that what he had just witnessed was no illusion. What he saw befuddled him greatly. He did not know how he could have missed such an important detail! Before him, the young woman's eyes shone.

One the color of blackened soot, its light dully noticeable while the other a light bluish hue, like a single crystalline drop from the Seine river. It was unbelievable, surreal even! In all the years of his life he had never witnessed such beauty! One eye to behold the alluring darkness, one to witness light and grasp purity. A bubble of laughter soon erupted from him, soon morphing into a maniacal cackle. This was too precious, too perfect. No, he could not kill her now. She was the perfect specimen. She was his now and she had just become very important. Erik tore off his mask as his laughter continued.

A shrill scream broke into the night.


End file.
